End of Eternity
by andromeda555
Summary: A Ken Murata fic from hos own POV. Warning-contains ramblings of an exhausted mind


**Author's note: It might not strike you as being anyhow related, but I felt that it is quite impossible to feel perfect all the time. This is just a random fan-fiction about a particular time when Ken Murata was not in the best of spirits.**

**This fan-fiction is not written as being grammatically correct.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyo Kara Maoh.**

I feel, ill. Yes, that was definitely the word I was looking for. I was not happy, not content; but not sad, not really heartbroken either. I was dissatisfied-with myself-more so, because I didn't know why.

Lord von Christ's books interest me no longer. I find that nothing holds me enough to stop my thoughts from straying where I didn't want them too. I am no longer amused by Shibuya's fights with Lord von Bielefelt, or Lord Weller's brooding, or lord von Voltaire's knitting. It is just irritating. Irksome. Dissatisfactory. Pathetic, just like me and my four thousand year old existence. Like the shrine maidens who have outlawed me from Shi--the temple.

Oh, all right. So I haven't been outlawed. What of it? It boils down to the same point does it not? I am staying at the Covenant Castle, and I have not visited Shi—the temple for weeks.

I despise humanity. And Mazoku-ity. Whatever that was supposed to mean. I am grossly abhorrent of all living beings that can think and act. Dead ones included. Nobody can do anything right. Nobody does what they are supposed to. And everyone expects me to be perfect.

Why, I ask? Just because I was Daikenja and have a four thousand year old memory does NOT mean I always have to be right. It makes me so nauseous that I feel like doing things wrong on purpose. Even if I do things wrong, my wrong becomes right, because it is simply ignored. I hear people muttering about it behind my back, but when I'm in front of them, it is like nothing ever happened.

Then again, I'm all alone, like I always was. No, don't get me wrong, there's Shibuya and his 'angelic' fiancé, Mr Grumpy old Anissina-tortures-me-and-I-have-always-loved-her, Lord brood-and-smile-on, the Great image of education with a perpetual nosebleed, the afore-mentioned torturer, the cocky cross-dresser spy, Ms Command-all, occasionally the former Maoh, as well as a horde of other bits of irritation. But everyone talks to me and I talk to everyone. It seems like I am a different person every time someone different talks to me. Oh, dash it all, now I've even lost the ability to express myself. I mean, it's like; I seem to change according to the liking of the person I am talking to. Never can I be really me. That is why everything has to be so annoying, because when I am by myself, I keep trying one disguise after another, but nothing ever fits. I get so confused, so absolutely irritated.

If ever I try to look into the deepening gloom that continually surrounds me, I see no one. People look at me, lost in their own world, and look away again, leaving me as alone as I was before. But, somewhere along the way, I do find someone. Someone that has a gentle glowing face, a calming smile; blue eyes which are for once sympathetic, maybe even a bit-just a bit-sad. It seems like there is only one being who truly wants to fish out the something that I had lost in these long four millennia, something that was once an inseparable part of me, present even when I was that cursed Soukoku sage…

Oh great heavens, there I go again, thinking of those eyes…I do not know how many times I have tried to stop myself from thinking about them, but I just can't. Even though that's the reason I'm confused, I just can't help thinking everything will be alright once I return to him, just this once. Even then, I can't even bring myself to do it. I keep expecting him to make the first move; and now, I've been waiting these long four millennia…if he doesn't talk to me, I get all anxious and hurt; if he does, I end up saying things I don't mean, and still hurt him as well as myself. So much so that it is even physically painful.

I agree that he's this twisted perverted impertinent fool, but I really cannot stop wishing for time to stop when I'm with him.

I know it is not good for me, but what has ever been? Every time I close my eyes, my mistakes come back to me; so many things that I had done on impulse, so many times I have harmed nameless and faceless people for the sake of the happiness of someone dear to me. What is worse is that I cannot even confide in anyone, these faults of mine shall remain to myself; for no one else cares. No one else gives a damn whether I care either.

My intuition has usually guided me whenever my knowledge failed. It is not reliable, but it worked. Well, of course not always. Somehow, I always managed to convince others that I knew what I was doing. That was always what I was doing, acting, pretending. Never did anyone disbelieve me when I was lying-which, mind you I nearly always did - but for one certain someone to whom I have never had the guts to lie, I was never believable.

I have never believed that I was for one moment isolated from him. As long as I knew he was there, somewhere. It is true that I have fervently waited for my last life, when I shall return to him. But before now it has never got me down. I can't do this any longer. For the past four millennia I have lived for his sake, so that his purpose is fulfilled. It was my duty to him as my king. Now, that is over. What use do I have of myself now? What difference could I make to anyone? Moreover, what do I have to do with him now? What meaning is there to my life?

I find no answer to my questions. Not in Shibuya's innocent clueless behavior, not in Gunter von Christ's books. I long for his company; everyday I yearn to speak to him, yet I do not find the courage to do so anymore. It is not that I cannot-although his soul has been freed, I know he is still around, somewhere. I know that whatever I may think, he would never knowingly desert me.

He has always been an exception for me; someone separated from all others by some invisible barrier, which no one else but I could see. Somehow, his title does not count much-at least in my book. He would have been just the same otherwise too. But then, he is what he was meant to be, what he was most suited to being. The Great One-that he was then, that he is now.


End file.
